Baby Blues
by Simlead
Summary: A small sequel to my NT fic 'Judgemental', featuring Sandra/Strickland and some fluff with their baby. Rated T for mild birth scene and just in case. I hope you like angst too!


**A/N: Hello again! First thing's first, this is a sequel to my New Tricks fic 'Judgemental' and can't work as a stand alone fic. So you'll have to read that before if you haven't already. Basically, I wanted to extend it with some more updated writing. So here I am with a bit of a mixed one-shot for you lovely people. :) Snippets of Sandra/Strickland and a bit of cuteness between Sandra and their baby (yes, there's a mild birth scene - _very mild_). Oh, and a double meaning I poked in. Enjoy! **

**Oh, wait, I don't own anything? Gah... -_-**

* * *

Sandra could see, in that moment, why her mother had never remarried and added another branch to the family tree after she'd 'recovered' from her grief. The contractions had begun an hour ago and Robert had gone insane. Within minutes, they were at the hospital and firmly within the grasp of a doctor. A very patronizing doctor.

_I swear, if I never hear 'one more big push' again it won't be too soon... _she groaned silently. Her fingers crushed her partner's. And she imagined that her glare crushed much more of the doctor. That was another thing - in her haste to make it to a bed, she'd bypassed the usual 'ritual' of exchanging names or other vital details.

"Come on now, Sandra, you can do this," Robert egged her on, his eyes pleading a little. The pain in his hand intensified as she cranked her head his way.

"You believe that? Because I'd love to swap places some day," she snarled. He chuckled nervously.

"I'm free this weekend," he told her. The joke was a wafer-thin shield between him and hormonal destruction. It was terribly convenient, however, that so many men lost their sense of humour at the final wave.

"Have fun," Sandra grunted out. The doctor reminded her once more to 'push' and that it was 'just one more' and then she'd have her little angel in her arms. The policewoman decided against strangling the poor woman and focused her mind on following orders (for once).

"I can see the head!" the doctor proclaimed, smiling hopefully at the expectant mother - if she could still have been called that.

"Funny how I'm the person that carried the damn thing for nearly nine months and I'm only one who can't see it."

"Be patient," its father told her. Of course, he immediately regretted it... Nevertheless, Sandra held tight and, moments later, a crisp clear wail filled the room.

"Hello, angel," she smiled.

* * *

There was no sign of the previous calamity of the hospital room. Mother and baby were safely installed in the bed, Sandra's arms wrapped around her newborn.

"How's my daughter?" Robert Strickland had never thought he'd say those words. Especially not to _her_. He had to be dreaming.

"You saw, hmm?" she motioned for him to take a seat beside the bed.

"I think I got a better view than you did, to be honest," he replied as he settled into the worn material of the chair. "She really is beautiful. Takes after her mother."

"I can still throw a punch, even if I'm working off all this baby weight," she threatened in jest. It made him chuckle, reaching out to touch the baby. The girl let out a gurgle but barely moved in the makeshift cradle her mother's body created. "We haven't thought about names, you know."

"It was you that said you didn't want to know the sex, Miss-Hormonal-Punches."

"Says the man who wanted to paint half of her room blue and the other half pink," her exasperation was clear as she rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, the baby cast her eyes back and forth between them, unable to comprehend a single word.

"Alright, alright. I admit that my decoration ideas were crazy. But I didn't see fluorescent green working well either, did you?" he snorted. "Anyway, Sandra, names."

"Right, names," a blush arose. Apparently, and much to his joy, he was one of the few that could produce such a reaction in her. "You first."

"Grace?" and he was smirking.

"No! We are not naming any child of ours after my mother. It won't happen today, it won't happen tomorrow. It won't happen _ever_."

"Alright then. A combination of our names."

"Absolutely not. Cheesy as hell..."

"Not it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Yes it is."

"Not it's-" Sandra came to a sudden halt, realising she'd been duped. "Why, you little..."

"Angel, I know. Everyone seems to be saying it. Look, Sandra, it's not _that _bad. What about Rowena. It ends in 'a' and has an 'n' in like your name. And it starts with 'Ro' like mine," 'Rowena' giggled and waved an arm about, "and she seems to like it."

"Men and their fantasies," Sandra rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you do owe me - and it'll take more than just a weekend away to repay your debt."

* * *

It had been days since Rowena Strickland and her parents had left hospital. The nursery had been painted an 'airy' lilac and furniture had been rushed in on express delivery. That delivery included a cushioned rocking chair. The little girl had seemed to take a liking to it from the moment Sandra had sat down to test its strength. So it only seemed logical that it was where she sat then, as she tried to lull the baby into sleep.

"Come on, Ro. Mummy needs you to sleep. Or Daddy'll go mad and scream like a girl," she whispered, a smile ghosting her lips. Then there was a shuffling of carpet against feet by the door.

"What's this about my screaming?" Robert asked. He raised an eyebrow and came to stand by the two of them.

"Oh, nothing. Just a tad of knowledge from a whole bucket that she can't hear right now.

"Can't hear right now? And you're referring to..."

"Were you a magical talking-and-hearing _baby_ too?" Sandra grinned.

"No, not that I can remember. But I'm sure Rowena will be just as amazing as any other."

_As any other... _Sandra's mind echoed, pulling her back to the suffering of the past year. _What would you have been like, little one? All well-mannered and adorable like your dad and sister or a noisy, moody little brat like me?_

"Sandra? Sandra, tell me what's wrong," she heard when she returned to reality. Robert was knelt by her side, looking intently into her eyes. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that closing off would only hinder her now.

"It's just this last year," he gave her a sympathetic look, "I was thinking about what our first baby would've been like."

"Sandra, whatever he or she would've been like, they wouldn't want you to torture yourself over something like this. You were coping so well. Don't tell me it was all show."

"No, a lot of it's real. But I need time, Rob. Time. I'll heal with time."

* * *

Rowena's laughter mingled with other giggles and chuckles. The doting, aged arm of her grandmother was wrapped around her as she was assisted in opening yet another present. If she'd learnt anything today, it was that birthdays (especially first birthdays) were the best time of the year. Sandra was stood behind the two other generations of Pullmans (Rowena was, technically, a Strickland but the two older women had decided that she was a Pullman at heart). She smiled at her little girl's ecstatic face as she tore sheet after sheet of wrapping paper off.

_She won't be enjoying them as much when she gets to my age, _she mused. Her eyes flickered over to the TV as it played out the headlines. Her brain passed off the information, for a short time, in much the same way. Some criminal had died in prison. And then the name caught her eyes. Felsham. John.

"Dead..." the word passed her lips, barely a whisper. The shock froze her. The sharp intake of breath was imprisoned in her throat, unwilling to break free. Should she cheer? Should she mourn?

_Neither, _she decided. _I was angry. Not nuts._

"At least your father won't be turning in his grave anymore," Grace pointed out to her, drawing the conversation away from the other adult guests.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sandra gulped and cast a relieved glance at Ro. Yes, this was one death Sandra Pullman wouldn't be digging up thirty years down the line.

* * *

**A/N: Again, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) What _do_ you think?**


End file.
